


Adam and Jamie Fight Crime!

by mific



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, MythBusters RPF
Genre: Crack, Cyborgs, Fanfiction, Humor, M/M, Magic, they fight crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's an oversexed playboy cyborg gone bad.<br/>And <i>he's</i> a mentally unstable antique-collecting detective descended from a line of powerful witches.<br/>Together, they fight crime!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adam and Jamie Fight Crime!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Toft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toft/gifts).



> Because Toft was right about there needing to be more Mythbusters fic in the world. Even nonsense like this.
> 
> Prompt is from the **[They Fight Crime](http://www.theyfightcrime.org/)** generator (slashified slightly).  
> 

 

Jamie sprayed some more CRC into his right elbow, which had been cogwheeling a little. He shook his head - too many playdates last month with that sexbot from Industrial Light & Magic. No chance of that lately so he’d been reduced to DIY. Even if he was a cyborg he still had needs, in fact he was programmed that way.

He tried not to let the old rage well up about  _why_ he  had been programmed that way, but the neural net was too overwritten and flared hotly anyway. Commissioned for a Russian mafia princess who wanted some cross between a leather daddy and the Energizer bunny - there was a great _raison d'être_. Sure, he’d escaped and left her cuffed to a four-poster in Minsk, but his psyche still carried the scars.

The _bratva_ would be after him forever; they never gave up. Svetlana had a lot of clout with her old KGB cronies, and he wasn’t exactly average-looking. He’d grown the thick mustache and shaved off most of his hair, but still. Always looking over his shoulder, always living off the grid. It got old.

Jamie got up and stowed the CRC can in its slot in his tool kit; he hated things out of place. He paced the length of the living room, fuming. This was ridiculous. There had to be a way out of this mess: he was well-endowed in all respects, software included. Hell, he was a trained scuba diver and could helm a yacht, machine his own spares, cook a cordon bleu meal and survive in the wilderness. A cyborg of many parts. Literally.

Not that he _wanted_ to live in the wilderness, thank you very much, which was why he’d broken into this empty house in Palo Alto. It was locked down for winter, the furniture covered in dust sheets. Outside, the city was swathed in freezing fog and the room was damp and icy. He needed more fuel cells or an external heat source; he couldn’t afford to raise his core temp any more. It was no wonder he was stiffening up, but there was no wood for the big open fireplace, no trees in the garden. The grounds were themed Japanese – all raked pebbles and fucking bonsai.

He’d just wheeled about to pace another length of the room in the hope of a little waste-energy warming when there was a soft pop and a wild-looking dude appeared out of nowhere, right by the sofa. Jamie froze.

“Whoa,” said the guy, peering about shortsightedly and scrubbing a hand through his hair, which was standing up, carroty. “This isn’t the Antique and Design Mall. Damn!” He wandered over to a sideboard and lifted the dust-cloth. “Hey, nice! A Hepplewhite.”

Jamie cleared his throat and glared at the guy. This was _his_ illegal crash-pad, he wasn’t having any dickhead horning in on it, even if it was freezing and inhospitable.

The redhead jerked around, clearly startled. “Oh wow, you could warn a guy,” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. Wrong side of his chest, Jamie noted, unless he was a bot too, which was fairly unlikely. Very few people could afford bots yet.

The guy flopped down on the dust-covered sofa, then sneezed. Nope, definitely not a bot. “Jeez Louise, you nearly killed me. My heart’s really pounding.” He peered up at Jamie, who’d approached him gingerly. This dude moved around a lot; he was unpredictable. Jamie hated unpredictability – it was the only thing he’d really had in common with Svetlana. Other than the sex, of course.

The guy stuck out a hand. “Hi, I’m Adam.”

Jamie stared at him blankly, then shook his hand. “JME-341. Call me Jamie.” He frowned down at the sofa. “How’d you get in here? That thing…you just appeared. Pop.”

“Yeah, I could ask you the same thing I guess, unless you own this place?” Jamie shook his head. “Nope, didn’t think so. Or maybe you Apparated too – did you?”

Jamie frowned harder. “ _Apparated?_ You have to be kidding. What are you, Harry Potter?”

“ _Where, where is he_ _–is he?_ _–”_ and the weird dude was down on the floor with his arms over his head, trembling like a leaf and totally freaking out. Oh man. __

“There’s no Harry Potter here, calm down willya.” Jamie folded his arms. “There’s no Harry Potter _anywhere_ , dude, he’s fictional. And don’t tell me you ‘apparated’ here or used the goddam ‘floo network’, I wasn’t born yesterday.” Wasn’t born at all, actually, but need to know, especially with unhinged individuals. This was California after all, you couldn’t be too careful where the crazies were concerned. Two words: Charles Manson.

“He’s really not here?” The guy – Adam – scrambled to his feet again. “Oh jeez, what a relief. No really, I’ve been avoiding him ever since I topped his bid for a Sheraton chaise longue. There was murder in his eyes that day at Sotheby’s. He had a deprived childhood, you know, makes you very grabby as an adult. And he’s a damn powerful wizard.”

“Will you can it with the witches and wizards bullshit!” roared Jamie, finally losing it. “There _are_ no witches and wizards. No apparating, no floo network.”

“Well, what would you know, you’re a cyborg, right?” Adam smirked. “The serial number kinda gave it away, and your aura’s really odd. Metallic. Plus you smell of CRC.”

“I could have been fixing something,” muttered Jamie sullenly. He wasn’t used to being made, most people didn’t even realise bots existed.

“Yeah, like that arm.” Adam was suddenly beside him, right up in his personal space. Jamie blinked but Adam barreled on, grabbing his bad elbow and manipulating it. Jamie was too stunned to deck him, though he briefly considered it. “Yeah, thought so, there’s your problem: loose wire. Just hold still and let me…” Adam pulled out a wand – a fucking wand? No way. “ _Reparo!_ That should do it.” He let go of Jamie’s arm.

Jamie flexed it cautiously. It felt great. No more catching, no stiffness. Hot damn. “You’re really a wizard? For real?”

“Yeah, sure, descended from a long line of powerful witches. You should see my Mom – she can fix anything. Harley Davidsons, electron microscopes, you name it! It’s the family specialty: mechanicals. Most witches and wizards are hopeless with the muggle world – especially the Brits, they’re a little quaint over there – but our branch has always been into science. Aunt Dittany’s got a Masters in theoretical physics, she's working on the Hubble in her spare time.” He rubbed his hands together, shivering. “Man, it’s cold in here! Aren’t you cold? I’m really fucking cold!”

“Yeah, but there’s no heat – the power’s off at the mains, place is closed up for the winter. No trees in the garden either, just rocks and those dumb miniature shrubs.” Jamie looked around. “I guess we could smash up some furniture and burn it–”

“NO WAY! Are you _crazy_?” Adam had interposed himself between Jamie and the nearest shrouded table and was holding his arms out sideways, shielding it. “These are valuable antiques, they were _crafted_ , not like modern shit, all MDF and spackle. I mean, fiberboard’s got its uses, don’t get me wrong, but this stuff was made with _love_ , and you don’t burn love.” He glared at Jamie, pink in the face. He was kind of cute, all worked up and with his hair sticking out.

“Okay, no burning the furniture,” Jamie agreed mildly. “Got any other ideas before we turn into popsicles?”

Adam poked about, looking into nearby rooms. “Hey,” he called out. ”Over here!”

Jamie joined him next door. He was stacking books from a fake-looking library, all polished wood and leather wing chairs. “Thought we weren’t allowed to burn the antiques?” He grabbed his own armful of tomes and followed Adam back to the fireplace.

Adam snorted. “These aren’t antiques, they’re blank facsimiles with pressed-cardboard faux-leather covers. Insta-library. The owners probably don’t read anything older than yesterday’s newspaper.” He piled fake books into the large grate and made with the wand again. “ _Incendio!”_   The books burst into flame.

They stood there, staring at the fire. “I dunno,” said Jamie. “I still kind of feel like Savonarola or something.”

“Mmm,” Adam said, then he shrugged. “Still, it’s warmer, yeah?” They smirked at each other, and dragged the sofa closer.

“So what _are_ you doing here,” Adam asked, when they’d thawed out their toes some. “I mean, I just visualised wrong, my navigation’s always been crap. But what about you?”

“Hiding out,” muttered Jamie, holding his hands out toward the flames. “The Russian mob’s been after me since I dumped the bitch who commissioned me.” Adam raised an eyebrow. “I’m a sexbot, a cyborg, like you said. I’m on the lam.”

“Really?” Adam eyed him with interest.

Jamie flushed. Now it was warmer he could feel his hydraulics loosening, his groin tightening, and Jamie was pretty cute, in a geeky, speccy way. Not at all like Svetlana, who’d been dark, angular and polished. _Vive la difference._

“That all you can do? Be a sexbot? Carry books?”

Jamie scowled. “I speak fluent Russian, I scuba dive and I’m good with boats. I can machine anything you like and build stuff, I’m a chef and I can start a fire with two sticks.”

“Yeah, I can start a fire with one,” Adam grinned, waving his wand. Smug bastard. “Still, that’s an impressive list.” He stretched luxuriously. “Well, this is lucky. See, before I got a little lost, I was on the trail of a gang of thieves. I’m a detective, a private dick, and the client’s paying me to retrieve his Ming vase on the quiet. He probably imported it illegally, they mostly do.”

“And this concerns me how?” asked Jamie, widening his legs so the fire could warm his groin. Mmmm, toasty. His calf pressed against Adam’s. It felt nice.

“I need a partner. My business is growing and it’s too much for one guy to manage. You seem resourceful and you’ve got a range of skills. And I can keep you safe from the Russians, too. A helluva lot safer, anyway, with wards and concealment charms.”

“You’d do that?” Jamie tried not to get his hopes up.

“Can’t offer you an insurance plan but I can do this, so why not? Whaddaya think – deal?”

Jamie leaned over and shook Adam’s outstretched hand. “Deal.” His stomach rumbled. “Don’t suppose you can rustle us up some dinner, magic boy?”

“That’s ‘Adam the Amazing’ to you, thanks very much.” He concentrated a moment, then half a ham, a loaf of bread and a crock of butter appeared on the rug before them, on a big tray with plastic plates and knives. “Picnic,” Adam said cheerfully. “The neighbours are having a party, they’ll never miss it.”

Jamie grinned and licked his lips. “Thanks, man. How can I ever repay you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Adam said, looking across at him from underneath his eyelashes. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ...and together, They Fight Crime!


End file.
